True or false or none of the above. That doesn't make any sense

So I'm sitting in some manner of common area at the local community college. Finals are in session, and the building is packed with young hopefuls attempting to cram enough last minute information into their sweet little brains to pass their final assessments of the semester. It's biting cold outside these walls, but the  combined heat of nervous bodies tightly packed into these rooms has bestowed a stuffy ardor to the inside air. Smells of perspiration, food, coffee, and mingled perfumes assault the nostrils. It's easy enough to feel young again, to feel older than is actually case.

It strikes me how I took my college years for granted, always avoiding these crowded places. Always, feeling so out of place, so singled out. I'm technically even further removed from this life now, yet I feel more comfortable here now than I ever felt there then. Maybe I feel like I have all the answers now. Maybe I now know how to stand out in the right way. Whatever the cause, I sit here now unafraid and wildly confident. Yes, I feel ready to do this again, ready to do it fucking right. It's a hunger.

I feel ravenous, eyes bigger than my stomach. Every bleached bimbo, every awkward nerd, every sparkling thug, every variegated hipster. Every one, I want to consume them all. Every dead brain cell and choking, struggling thought. Every ounce of insecurity and every pint of boisterously dissimulated caricature. Every hunger as healthy as my own. I want it all. Every last ounce of growth and regression. I miss the transitory scent of a passing beauty. Even, perhaps, the offensive odors of all manners of foreign food. A time-traveling jolt that returns me so decidedly to the commuter's pit. Healthy amount of stark dichotomies - purity and filth.

The mark of the consumers. And all those guises. And for the life of me, I can't help but soak in the diversity with the same eagerness as a dry sponge sucks up water. Diversity, those little chunks of debris that are typically left on the countertop of my experience, now end up nestled in the crevices of my perception. They pepper my sponge and penetrate me. And yes, I take it in, let it work its way into the inner facets, and I love it.